Beyond the Spectrum
by marythesky
Summary: Akashi Seijuuro challenges a girl's perspective on life and in return, she tips him off-balance. Ratings may move up to M later.
1. Prologue

I had never laid eyes on such a beautiful shade of red.

It was on a man standing under a sturdy, old tree. Not even the hundred shades of autumn leaves falling could compare to the peculiar warmth he emanated. The breeze was gentle with him, blowing through his crisp crimson hair. While the strands on his head and eyes swayed softly along with the sleeves of his _hakama_, that gaze he held was undoubtedly unwavering.

I wanted to take a step towards him.

I wanted to look into that pair of mismatched eyes.

I wanted be within the space where we would share the same air, feeling the electrically charged particles bouncing off my skin in excitement.

But the more I closed the distance between us, the more I wondered at the source of my courage.

Or my foolishness.

* * *

Routine provides stability, certainty and security. I woke up to that motto every day, with only the habit of eating, commuting, studying and working driving my mind and body. I am comforted by the idea that roughly eighty percent of Japan's white collar population experience the same as I do. Books and films are probably the constant source of novelty in my mundane life. Even that past time is phasing out as I find myself burdened with a heavy backlog of workload.

"Nee-san, your water's getting cold!"

I quickly poured the freshly-boiled water from the kettle into a mug already containing instant coffee powder. Stirring in some fresh milk, I took a sip before settling it down again. A long time ago when I still had the luxury of school breaks, I would find great satisfaction in grinding coffee beans and filtering the substance. It was a lengthier process, but the aroma of the end results was much stronger. It hit me hard that with age and time, delicacy and intricacy seemed to fade away slowly.

And I was desperately holding on to those details.

"I'm going out with my friends after class. Probably wouldn't make it back for dinner," my younger brother announced. We had a practice of declaring our schedules for the day during breakfast, so that we could plan for transport and meal. Junya Ken looked nothing like his sister, and I shared none of his optimism and range of social circle.

"Alright, enjoy yourself but don't come home too late, okay?" my mother said. "Well then, nee-san. Shall we eat out tonight since it's only the two of us?"

"Okay." I answered nonchalantly. Our family was rather small with three members and more often than not we did not see the point in cooking if one of us was absent. My mother left my abusive father and we were better off escaping those bitter days. The bond between us was stronger than ever, but I cannot help but feel a widening distance as I turned eighteen, nineteen, and then twenty.

"You could try that fancy restaurant with the pork and beef ribs," Ken suggested.

"Hmm." I finished the coffee and put on my coat, hastily grabbing my bag, keys, and mobile phone.

"We'd better get going. I need to sort out some affairs in the library."

"Ah! Coming!" There were sounds of rushing footsteps and the slapping of textbook covers against each other. As I looked at my brother tying his shoelaces, it was difficult to accept that he was already eighteen. Despite his taller stature and larger foot size, I could never forget the scene of a smaller us clutching on to each other, crying and begging my mum to take us someplace safe and far away.

"We're leaving. Be careful on the way to work, okaa-sama," I said. Another habit, again.

Ken and I started walking towards the subway, where we would board a train to reach university campus. I was a second year law student at Kyoto University and Ken was planning to follow suit. I enjoyed reading law, but my passion was always in literature.

"Hey, don't tell ka-san, but I'm actually going to a goukon tonight."

I stole a sideway glance and felt a sly grin appearing on my face.

"Wow, my little brother is really all grown up now," I teased. "Things didn't work out with Hashino-san?"

He smiled sadly. "She said she appreciated the sentiment, but only sees me as a very good friend."

Ah, I believe the contemporary term relevant would be 'friendzoned'.

"At least there are no ill feelings, right?"

"Yeah. She still talks to me almost every day."

I was envious of that friendship, not so superficial as to break so easily.

"What about you, nee-san? I haven't seen you like somebody since-"

Nijimura Shuzo.

"-Nijimura-senpai."

It has been a while since that name came to my mind.

I searched through the recesses of my memory aimlessly for any trace of his face, his words, and his voice – whether it was in the teachers' room, outside the school gym, in the school canteen.

What irony, I thought. Once upon a time, I was trying so hard to forget about him.

"-heard that his father had passed away and that he came back to Japan."

"I see." I could not say anything more. There was nothing to reminisce, although I missed the feeling of admiring someone, of running forward because I wanted to catch up with that person. My first love was short, fleeting like a season stopping by every year. What made it so melancholic was that it ended before it could begin.

The day after Nijimura left school, I thought nothing could hurt more than an unrequited love.

Perhaps time had washed that away as well.


	2. Chapter 1

I sat myself down on an unoccupied bench at about three-thirty in the afternoon. I was done with classes for the day, later than most others. Enrolling in an intensive course meant lengthy tutorials, widespread discussions, and even more unresolved issues in a group of either clueless or headstrong students. I took out my unfinished notes wanting to sort them according to topics when someone carelessly landed his behind on the space next to me. Annoyed with the sudden intrusion, I remained quiet and shoved the unorganised pile of papers into a pocket file.

"You want to leave when I just came?"

A wave of nausea hit me instantly after hearing that all-knowing, obnoxious voice. My head was turned towards his, not on my own volition, but when his fingers ran pressingly through my chin as if he had a right to it. Greeted by a sly and dirty grin, I swatted his hand off me and mentally berated myself for not being alert of my surroundings. He would have known that there were not many people left in this area of campus.

"Please don't touch me as you wish."

"So cold as always, even though we have already slept together once."

Hanamiya Makoto took pleasure in my anger on each occasion he reminded me of that fact. He had a rather sadistic streak that was fuelled by the discomfort of others. In this case, it was my shame. I tried to keep calm as I did not want to give him that satisfaction. Slowly, I looked him in the eye and uttered words that sounded more like an excuse than a justification.

"It was a mistake."

He leaned his face close to mine and licked his lips.

"Convince me then."

I held my head up defiantly, never cutting eye contact even when I felt his presence to be increasingly overbearing. I also maintained my distance in resilience and did not flinch away when I could almost feel his breath on me. If there was anyone who needed to back off, it was going to be him and not me.

"Let me sleep with you again," he suggested crudely. "Other women can't compare to you, you know? I missed it, you repeatedly calling my name… '_Makoto… Makoto.._.' "

I grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pushed him back. I could not care less about ladylikeness or decorum when my main aim was to get a message across _this_ man's head. He seemed amused that I would resort to physical force, evident in one of his thick eyebrows arching upward.

"Glad that I'm still capable of stirring _some_ reaction from you. But then I heard it's pretty difficult for a girl to forget her first."

"_You_ were my biggest mistake. I will _never_ sleep with you again, _Hanamiya_."

Taking my personal belongings into my hands, I wasted no seconds putting them into my bag and walked off. The sight of him churned my stomach and caused bits of memories to replay themselves like a video. Hanamiya was a decision made from my excess emptiness, a manifestation of my stupidity because I _had_ been aware of his residential 'bad boy' reputation. Nijimura's departure had caused a void in me and I resorted to Hanamiya's bed to fill that loneliness. It was irresponsible and unlike me, but my other persona enjoyed it- the decadence, recklessness and wildness of making the wrong choices.

If I was feeling self-destructive before Nijimura and Hanamiya, they were the catalysts that transformed me.

And by the time the person I'm expected to become repossessed my body, there was no regret upon full comprehension of what I had done - just an inherent disappointment and disillusioned view on life that lasted until now.

"You know I'm the only one who can understand you." He caught up easily and was walking a steady pace not too far behind. I muttered a silent curse, then quickly retracted it when I realised it was only him managing to incite another series of profanity from me. My lack of participation in sports showed thoroughly: legs that could not beat an athlete; what more one who was a renowned basketball player, captain and acting coach to his high school team. Compared to his frequency of rigorous stamina and endurance training, the occasional jogging and hiking I did was trivial.

I wondered at the reason I was drawn to Hanamiya then. We were obviously incompatible in the sports sense. Perhaps it was his wonderfully intelligent but corrupted mind. If I were to appreciate paintings and poetry through his eyes, it would see all the negative connotations. I am not such an optimistic person either- I know that I cannot win all my battles, so I could grasp his intention when he told me about his decision to sit out one match during the Winter Cup, just to observe the next team they were going against.

"Hey!"

My right hand was gripped firmly by him, and I was forced yet to another direct confrontation.

"What do you want?"

"I just told you."

"And I have already replied. We're done."

"You want me." He stated affirmatively, as if it was the correct answer to an exam question. The assurance in his tone threatened my resolve. I was afraid of being susceptible to my own vulnerability. I hoped he would not detect the slight waver in my voice.

"Do I?"

I attempted to pry my hand off his. He did not let his guard down.

"You do."

I moved my feet.

"Excuse me, miss."

That third voice in our very private conversation must have been help sent from above. It originated from a tall figure approaching us, dressed in a white shirt and black slacks. I would have assumed that he was from the law faculty judging his monotonous choice of clothes, but he was not a familiar face. Nonetheless, the student card hanging from his neck gave his identity away.

With long lashes concealed behind half-frame spectacles and neatly trimmed hair the colour of a vivid green.

The name of the medical student was Midorima Shintarou.


	3. Chapter 2

"Would you kindly release her?"

I expected Hanamiya to retort snidely along the lines of keeping out of our business. After all, none of us were acquainted with this Midorima Shintarou - although the longer he stayed, the more I wanted to take back my words on him being unfamiliar. He did vaguely resemble someone I had seen before but I could not recall where or when. I wanted to flee from both men, embarrassed that one was 'saving' me from being harassed by the other. Midorima's stern gaze was imposing on Hanamiya while the latter stared hard at me. The only thing I could look at was the three pairs of shoes.

I felt pathetic.

My right hand fell limply to my side and I realised Hanamiya had done as asked. By the time I lifted my head, the shorter man was closing his eyes in contemplation. His lips slowly inched upwards, a smile twisted into a snigger. I prayed that his mouth would not spill further insults.

"Midorima Shintarou, huh?" Hanamiya directed that name at me instead of the person who owned it. The tone was inquisitive yet accusatory, as if blurring the lines between questioning my connection with the green-haired man and implying an improper one. Midorima showed no reaction to this, wearing an impeccable poker face.

"Well, it's been such a fulfilling day. I'll visit you again and hopefully you would have changed your mind the next time," the Kirisaki Daiichi High alumni promised with artificial high spirits. The gesture seemed friendly, but I could imagine the real fury concealed when he touched my jaw momentarily before walking away. He was always a very good actor capable playing dual roles and keeping them separate.

I did not notice the sigh of relief escaping from inside me nor the fact that Midorima Shintarou was still standing beside as I made sure Hanamiya never turned back and was gone, for the day at least. An awkward silence lingered on, posing the next hurdle I had to overcome. The scenario was heading towards one where neither of us would walk away until I made the first move, and it was the most sensible and polite step I could take.

"Thank you very much for your help." I dare not address him directly even by his family name, fearing it would be rude as he had not formally introduced himself.

"You should be wary of him," he warned coolly without an obligatory 'you are welcome'. Maybe he felt like he did nothing worthy of commendation. Midorima did not further disclose the reasons behind his opinion on Hanamiya, and we did not ask each other how we came to know that person. Despite the brief exchange, I still found myself glued to the same position due to the inconclusive state of matter. Should I bid goodbye and leave or continue the small talk? The latter option was troublesome, not to mention he could find it annoying.

"…"

He cleared his throat.

"Are you going back home now?"

I nodded.

"I'll walk you, in case he comes back to disturb."

"Ah, it's fine! It's just a stone's throw away-"

"I insist."

That ended nicely.

I headed out of the school compound and he followed suit. My brisk pace was obviously child's play to him with a minimum height of six feet five, the top of my skull barely grazing his chin. Midorima's bangs fell like a curtain over his forehead, concealing it fully, complementing his sharp features – straight nose, thin lips, and high cheekbones. As his glasses slid down slightly, his thick eyelashes fluttered before he pushed the black frame up reflexively. He appeared to be rather stoic, making it impossible to read his thoughts.

"-scope?"

I looked at him squarely in the face, not anticipating another conversation.

"Pardon?"

"I was asking about your zodiac sign," he said as a matter of fact, not a bit irritated at all.

"It's Scorpio."

The man's lips curved upward a little, reminding me of how I used to draw the symbol of a crucible in my chemistry lab reports. There was a remote chance that he was pleased with the revelation that I was a Scorpio.

"Are you a Scorpio too?" I enquired out of courtesy, but mostly out of curiosity and amusement.

"No, I'm not," Midorima denied. "But Scorpios have very good compatibility with Cancers."

I did not know how to respond to that odd remark.

"So, what is your zodiac sign?"

"Cancer, of course."

I could not keep my reaction under control this time, blushing furiously at his particular suggestion and feeling embarrassed at my own audacity to misinterpret this as flirtation. Midorima's choice of topic for idle talk was random to me then, but I learnt later that his eccentric obsession with horoscopes and luck was simply derived from his cautious attitude – he never leaves anything to chance. It was interesting how his 'going all out' spirit manifested in the form of superstition, despite looking logical and composed.

"…by the way, I'm Midorima Shintarou."

I almost choked trying to suppress a loud laugh, fortunately it came out as a chortle.

"Junya Isuzu. Pleased to meet you."

His eyebrows narrowed, placing a small frown on his handsome face. I was afraid that he might have taken offense at my chuckle and quickly explained the reason behind it.

"I apologise for laughing. It's just that we've got the sequence wrong…"

"Sequence?" Now he had his left eyebrow raised, visibly relaxing his shoulders.

"I meant the convention when you meet a new person. You usually give your name, probably your age and department of study, then moving on to a conversation. We started with a conversation on zodiac signs and went back to names. Quite out of the order, isn't it?"

"Not really," he muttered nonchalantly.

"Oh? Maybe it's not really a big deal…"

"What I mean is-" he interrupted, "sometimes you'll have to break conventions to find novelty in life."

I smiled at Midorima for the first time after that. He was certainly a refreshing new presence in my very short list of acquaintances. Upon reaching the train station, we parted and waved goodbye. There were no explicit plans to meet again. As he left and I waited on the train platform, I uttered a soft reply to his earlier statement, agreeing with that bit of wisdom about discarding the orthodox.

"_Yes, yes it's nice to meet you like this."_

I had an intuition that we would bump into each other soon.


	4. Chapter 3

"Hey, hey look at that person over there!"

"Could it be him?"

"No way!"

Heavy rain poured suddenly that afternoon. It was the first in a continuous period of very dry weeks. The rumble of thunder sounded like heaven's roaring blessing as drops of water regulated the temperature of the asphalt to a cooling one. Dusty raincoats and umbrellas found their use as pedestrians scramble to unfold them in an attempt to avoid being drenched. Despite the unpredicted weather (I checked the forecast that morning and a sun icon was displayed), there were not many people who chose to take shelter in the café I was working part-time in. Granted the location was rather secluded and it was a little over an hour after lunch time, many would be sitting in front of their office desks energised and rushing to meet deadlines. I imagine the menial workers' mood would be most affected, as the men's fatigue lessen by taking a necessary respite. Even my boss seemed happy that the abuse on the air-conditioning and electricity bills would come to a halt.

"I'm _positive_ it's him!"

"Girls," the owner of Ontoko Café reprimanded, "I didn't pay you so that you can ogle at pubescent boys."

"What do you mean 'pubescent'? Look at that body!" Sayuri, a first-year high schooler protested vehemently. Her calmer counterpart and best friend, Hiyori agreed with her.

"God, he's hot."

"Shut your fawning! Aren't there work to be done?"

The two female part-timer held up their palms and shook their heads. To be honest, business was slow that day. All the seated customers were busy with their meals or engaged in chats, the low chattering and buzz being the undercurrent of instrumental music playing through the small speakers installed in some parts of the ceiling. The counter where we handcraft beverages and display the pastries and cakes was tidy and clean; the general washbasin was dry with liquid soap refilled; sachets of sugar and creamer restocked; napkins and cutleries were already laid out on unoccupied tables ready for the next user. In their defence, there _was _nothing much to do. And I was sure the owner could tell with a single, furtive glance.

"I give up," the 40-year old man sighed in defeat. "Why can't you girls be more like Junya-kun here?"

I put away one of my law flashcards, grateful that Aomine-san here was flexible in a way that he understood our other commitment as a student. He allowed light studying as long as it did not interrupt the flow of the café's operations.

"Oh, I like men too, Aomine-san." I teased. "Just not-", I eyed our subject of interest briefly, "blonde ones with a piercing and flamboyant fashion sense."

Sayuri and Hiyori both burst into a fit of laughter while Aomine-san shook his head and massaged his temples.

"I know what type of men you like, Junya nee-san!" Sayuri exclaimed excitedly.

"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow. "Let's hear it from you then."

"Well, it's more like something Hiyori saw anyway," she turned to the other first-year. "Maybe men who are tall and serious? You know, the kind who walks with a straight posture, wears glasses and looks intelligent?"

"Who doesn't like an intelligent man?" I commented casually, only catching the last adjective.

"Right!" The usually quieter Hiyori said, then turning to Sayuri again. "I told you!"

"Hmmm, told her what?"

There was a short pause before two voices spoke in unison.

"Junya nee-san, are you seeing someone?"

Just then a flash of lightning struck, literally, followed almost instantly by a loud clap of thunder. I would have jumped at nature if I was not already dumbfounded by their conclusion.

"What?"

"What? Really?" the owner added. He was visibly perked up at this piece of news.

"No!" I replied strongly, "I don't even have time for myself!"

That was true. I cannot count the amount of fictional books I had to abandon because of everyday hustle and bustle.

"But, but, but- Hiyori saw you walking closely with a bespectacled university boy near the train station!"

Oh my goodness. She saw me with Midorima and misunderstood.

"No, no, no! He's just a person I met on that day itself."

"It sure didn't seem so. He was looking at you all the time. And you were so cute trying to keep your head down!"

I was shy! More than that, I didn't notice him doing what Hiyori saw him doing.

"Um, sorry to barge in at such a juicy stage, but Mr. Blonde's calling for service."

A signalling hand was raised at the table near the window. Aomine-san cocked his head towards that direction and I rushed out while taking the pen and memo pad in my apron pocket. Belatedly I realised Sayuri or Hiyori would have wanted to take the order for this customer, and that the boss could have sent me to save myself from embarrassing questions, or save them from embarrassing themselves in front of a crush.

"May I help you, sir?"

Upon gazing at the blonde man, I could comprehend Sayuri's behaviour and infatuation. His longish golden hair contoured his slim v-shaped face, with eyes the colour of topaz gleaming mischievously or competitively. While obviously shorter than Midorima, his carried his slighter built with a celebrity-like confidence. The white dress-shirt he was wearing hugged his torso like a mannequin. Even the mode of tilting his head when scanning the menu quickly was enticing.

"Can I have the lemon meringue pie?" His voice was bright with an enthusiastic tone.

I turned back at the glass display to confirm what I already know.

"I am very sorry, sir. We are out of lemon meringue pie."

"Ahh," he acknowledged disappointedly. "I'll have the apple pie, then."

"Yes, sir. What about your beverage?"

"Can I have a glass of warm water?"

"Very good, sir. Would you like it with a slice of lemon?"

"Sure," he chirped and returned the menu to me. I gave a small bow and went back to the counter to place his order.

"Gosh, Junya nee-san. It's really him!"

"Who him?" I asked with a hint of irritation while dispensing warm water into a heat-resistant glass.

"The model, Kise Ryouta!"

I took in the sight of Kise Ryouta from the spot I was standing. At a further angle, Kise's side profile could definitely pass that of modelling standards.

"I get it. Why don't you take this to him?" I handed the tray with the glass of lemon-infused water to Sayuri. She beamed and fixed her hair and apron before taking it from me.

As Sayuri left, I patted Hiyori who was becoming sullen.

"Don't worry. Once I'm done whipping up the fresh cream, you deliver the pie."

The timid smile on her pretty face reminded me of my younger self. It was always nice to show and receive kindness.

* * *

Author's Note: Hello everyone! I believe it's my first time inserting an A/N. Hope you guys are enjoying the story and please, please leave a review. I would love feedback and comments from the readers! I understand it's progressing pretty slow in the beginning and the chapters are short in length, but I will consider consolidating some chapters and editing further once I update more frequently.


	5. Chapter 4

The brass bells hung at the entrance of Ontoko Café tinkled when somebody pushed the door open. Our newcomer was a girl around my age or younger, hastily retracting her wet, pink umbrella and shoving it into the designated vase. Although bracing through wind and rain with just a light cover above the crown of your head was no easy feat, she still managed to appear immaculately groomed. Hair the shade of oak wood was neatly styled in a tress down her thin back, with makeup and circle lenses completing the doe-eyed image. I would not be surprised if she was one of those models in magazines promoting the doll-like look, filled with pages of lacy and pastel-coloured dresses and tutorials on applying fake eyelashes.

I searched for my reflection on the window and couldn't help comparing. My natural black hair was cut short at chin-length, wild and untamed due to curls inherited from my parents. It took a good brand of conditioner and a bottle of nourishing spray to reduce the frizz into waves reminiscent of flappers from the 1920s. There was nothing special or memorable about my face – I had glasses since I was ten, courtesy of reading while lying on the bed.

The girl tread carefully towards Kise Ryouta's table in an unsure gait. She sat down opposite him and he looked up from resting his forehead on his palm. The atmosphere was gloomy as his companion looked like she was about to tear and the model himself seemed to be in a dilemma. I had no choice but to quickly place a menu in front of her and disappear fast, but they were already eager to achieve the objective of their meeting.

I returned to the counter and saw Sayuri and Hiyori wiping the empty chairs and sweeping the floor respectively. Before the remaining seat at his table was taken, they were thrilled to have served Kise his dessert and drink and even managed to bag a picture with him while keeping their composure. I respected him for being humble and a good sport. Now the two workers were more intent on knowing who the mysterious female was. As more and more customers left, there was only one table left at four in the evening.

I was about to take my phone out when I could not help but overhear their not-so private conversation.

"Ryouta-kun, please," Ms. Doll begged with a sweet voice that was cracking. Her manicured hands rested on top of his large ones, but he pulled away reluctantly.

"I'm sorry, Arisa-chan. I can't do this."

"I beg you… I'll try to solve the problem. Tell me what it is with me that you're not satisfied with. I will change, I promise."

"Arisa-chan... don't make it difficult… for the two of us," he muttered.

It does not take a genius to figure that the couple was most probably going through a breakup. Both parties had morose expressions painted on their faces, especially the girlfriend. From the brief interaction, I deduced that it was Kise who initiated the separation and I wondered why, when she was willing to go so far as to change for him.

"I thought you loved me, Ryouta-kun," Arisa cried, shoulders shaking while dabbing at the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief.

The blonde leaned back and directed his gaze at the coaster.

"You loved me more…" he whispered, "…too much…"

I went back to minding my own affairs, taking inventory and cleaning what was already clean. It was not right to eavesdrop. The outcome would inevitably be a sad one befitting the dark sky and falling rain. Her sobs were reaching my ears, louder than the whirring of the refrigerator. A pang of sympathy struck me with each sniff and half-hearted apology.

I sent a short text to my mother as I entered the locker room, telling her that my shift would be ending soon. Removing my apron and changing out of the café T-shirt, I wondered if Kise and Arisa would remain friends. It was possible if they did not end the relationship on a sour note. Then again, she did not look like she consented to the decision. How do you avoid conflict when there is no consensus?

The sole experience I had that was similar to this scenario was with Hanamiya Makoto, though we were never really together. We had met by chance at an illegal drinking session in a theme park resort. It was my high school graduation trip and coincidentally, his alumni reunion. Our groups weren't affiliated with one another. I was foolishly downing bitter alcohol while feeling dissociative and filtering out the noise. My classmates were either flirting or boasting about the universities they applied to. I remained very quiet. The ambitious talk about salary and promotion triggered my cynical view on life – we study hard to achieve the best grades, to increase our perceived labour value, only to find ourselves slaving away for an income that does not adequately reflect our actual worth, because if you think about it thoroughly, employers are running a profit-oriented business after all. There is no fair law and this is true the second we are born. The rich millennials who are smart make more money by investing their inherited wealth, while the middle-class or poor struggle to pay loans and bills, with hardly enough money to save and pass on to their children.

It was when I stood up to excuse myself that I noticed Hanamiya leering at me from a bar stool with a smirk on his face. There was a steady, escalating sense of foreboding the longer I held his eyes with mine. He wore a fitting shirt with a plunging V-neck paired with dark-coloured khakis and loafers. The raven hair on his head was sported in a shaggy cut with some locks falling between his thick eyebrows. Hanamiya, to his credit, was sexy in a dangerous manner, particularly the psychopathic glint in his greyish brown irises.

I sped to the washroom to freshen up. As the cold water hit my bare face in splashes, I chastised myself for not being participative enough, and to stare at a stranger for an extended period. What if my actions had offended him? My mother's golden advice was to always be guarded against men. I used to (and still) tell her that I need to be approached by men in the first place for that warning to be put in practice. That washed away the concern on her face, but it was slightly discouraging on my side – the implicit idea that I was not attractive or interesting enough.

Done with retying my hair into a ponytail, I walked out of the restroom tiredly when I bumped into someone who was stationary at the corner.

"I'm sorry-"

"Ah-", the man said satisfactorily, as if he had been served a delicious meal.

If only I had ran off then.

"Found you, little bird."


End file.
